Sympathy

I lay in sorrow, deep distressed;
My grief a proud man heard;
His looks were cold, he gave me gold
But not a kindly word.

My sorrow passed, I paid him back
The gold he gave to me;
Then stood erect and spoke my thanks,
And blessed his charity.

I lay in want, in grief and pain;
A poor man passed my way;
He bound my head, he gave me bread,
He watched me night and day.

How shall I pay him back again,
For all he did to me?
Oh, gold is great, but greater far
Is heavenly sympathy!

-- Charles McKay.

The reader can tell from the third stanza that the poet is